Convent Threshold Collection
by lilmeier
Summary: A collection of one-shots based on the lines from 'Convent Threshold'. Various characters, pairings, Mixed ratings.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I don't own the Twins or the Potions Master, they belong to JK Rowling. I also don't own the poem from which the italics are extracted. It was written by the Victorian Christina Rossetti. Go read her stuff.**

**Convent Threshold is the name of the poem, and the italics at the start of all these drabbles write it out in order, hence why some update may take forever. (If the lines don't inspire me I can't update in the right order and then the poem would go wrong.)  
**

**This is the first work I've uploaded, I have lots of random bits written awaiting typing and uploading. Please tell me if you like it, any you think would make a good story or part of story and how in character they are.**

**Thank you, and please enjoy.**

_There's blood between us, love, my love_

_There's father's blood, there's brother's blood:_

_And blood's a bar I cannot pass:_

I turn to face him as the building around us sleeps, overfilled with inhabitants stuck in the dying house because of the storm raging outside. I smile gently as his arms wrap tighter around my waist pulling me closer as I bury my head into his firm shoulder. As the next flash of magic-fuelled thunder illuminates the room, his fingers card through my hair as he ssh's and calms my trembling.

"I'm too old to be afraid, I shouldn't be afraid of a storm."

"Who cares, I get too hold you safe, and at least you didn't have to walk across the freezing room this time."I shake violently as the next roll of thunder and elemental magic moves toward Gimmauld Place.

"That's the good thing about everyone being stuck here tonight. We get to wake up next to each other and no-one could think anything strange because they made us share my bed.."

"We have to fall asleep before we can wake up Fred, What are the chances of that with this storm?" I ask quickly before another flash lights up his face.

"Then I'll just have to hold you all night. Sleep is over-rated and with **Snape** in your usual bed, its probably safer for us to be awake."

"yeah."

We lay there in comfortable silence as we listen to the the gentle breathing of the portraits and await the next crash of thunder. It's even nearer now, I can feel the magic flowing through the air. I accidentally bite into Fred's shoulder as my fear over-rules my mind.

"Sorry" I whisper as he hisses softly. "Sorry Fred, I'll kiss it better, okay?"

I kiss the wound, noticing even in the half-darkness that it'll bruise. I can feel his heartbeat under my fingers speeding up whilst I kiss the bite. I moan softly when he ducks his head and our lips meet, Our hips already grinding despite the boxers in the way.

"We really... shouldn't... not tonight...Snape..." I gasp out, my body and my mouth moving against his still.  
"He'll never looks...merlin...in the eyes...hmm...again."

I feel my body tightening as my cock rubs against him, we freeze somehow as a loud round of coughing erupts from the over side of the room. When silence returns our breaths are erratic and we move slowly for a mere minute, although it seems hours, before arching together as we cum moments apart.

"Merlin that was hot! Didn't know the risk turn you on so much George."

"Shut up Fred...Love you."

"Love you too George."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I don't own Sirius or the Hat, they belong to JK Rowling. I also don't own the poem from which the italics are extracted. It was written by the Victorian Christina Rossetti.**

_I chose the stairs that mount above,_

_Stair after golden skyward stair,_

_To city and to sea of glass_

"Black, Sirius." Sirius grinned as he sat on the stool, all eyes on him. As the musty hat brought darkness to his world, the smile flickered momentarily.

"Hmm, don't you like the dark? It's not very dark; you just can't see my lights. Where should I put you? You won't make a good Ravenclaw, you lack the ability."

"I'm not stupid!"

"No, but you aren't studious either are you. Hufflepuff?"

"No."

"But you're so loyal Sirius."

"No. Not Hufflepuff. Please."

"Fine, what about Slytherin?"

"Yeah!"

"Lose all independence; be forever trapped in the rules and laws of your family. Even when you know they are wrong?"

"If they are wrong why would I be following?"

"If you escape who would associate with you? You would be scorned by your House."

"Friends wouldn't."

"Slythereins aren't friends."

"I can't be in Gryffindor. I'd be disowned."  
"You are brave Sirius. You are loyal. You are intelligent. You are not a snake. Where do you wish to go? Where does your heart belong Sirius?"

"Gryffindor has the tallest tower don't they? The one that faces the lake and the forest?"  
"Yes. They are also brave and face their fears."  
"I don't want to become my family. I… I want to be free."  
"To mount above them?"

"To physically and mentally climb away from what they represent. I want golden stairs, not ones scarred by hurt."

"You chose Gryffindor?"

"If Gryffindor means freedom, I do."  
"The sun taints everything it touches with angels' gold Sirius. GRYFFINDOR!"

The Hat was pulled away and Sirius faced the Hall determined to be a different Sirius Black. A freer one.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I don't Harry or Tom, they belong to JK Rowling. I also don't own the poem from which the italics are extracted. It was written by the Victorian Christina Rossetti.**

_My lily feet are soiled with mud,_

_With scarlet mud which tells a tale_

_Of hope that was, of guilt that was,_

_Of love that shall not yet avail;_

Tom Riddle didn't start off as a senseless murderer; he was a young child once. An orphan in fact. Tom used to be an innocent little boy who dreamt not of pain and suffering and control, but of toys and sweets and family. An orphan who longed for knowledge, not for the power it afforded him, but for the simple love of knowledge.

When he was reborn, he looked so very different, no longer like his disgusting muggle father or slut of a mother. Bloodless skin made him look like an Inferi, not like Tom Riddle or any of those Gaunts who'd dared to disgrace their heir-ship the great Salazar Slytherin had gifted them with.

Harry wondered if Voldermort would make a show of him like he always had done, or if he would simply kill the teen. He'd decided when the announcement had been made, no one else was allowed to die for him, and he wasn't going to let any more innocent people die in vain attempts to protect him.

Harry no longer feared death. He never really had, all the times he'd faced death before, his body had been running on adrenaline, he'd known he'd be lucky enough to survive. Now, now he knew he was meant to die. He was walking towards his own death. The mud was stained red. Scarlet like the tie he'd worn with pride for so many days and months, so many years. Not nearly enough to others.

Scarlet with blood, of enemy and friend alike. This mud, it contained the story of his final battle. Harry smiled sadly as he realised how similar the Dark and Light sides were. Both led by powerful wizards determined their beliefs were the right path for the magical world. Both sides longed for freedom for their children and heirs. There were traitors and prisoners. Everyone battling would feel guilt for this war, for killing and letting others be killed.

Everyone at Hogwarts that day was there for love. It was only half-formed love, confused and mis-shapened by the guilt and bloodshed. But they'd all come to fight for a better world, to defend those they loved.

Harry was leaving to die for those he loved, for those he hated and those who refused to fight for themselves. Hopefully he wouldn't fail. His blood wouldn't join the scarlet mud. And nor would anymore innocents blood.

Harry's shoes and jeans were soiled with the mud. The scarlet mud which told the tale, not of his sacrifice, but of others.

What it represented would never be forgotten.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I don't Harry, his parents or the Hat, they belong to JK Rowling. I also don't own the poem from which the italics are extracted. It was written by the Victorian Christina Rossetti.**

_Alas my heart, if I could bare_

_My heart, this self same stain is there:_

6 months ago was the first time I died. 6 months ago was the day Tom Riddle died. Did you know he died with brown eyes? But this isn't about Tom.

This is about me, me and my family, me and the Sorting Hat.

I'd been summoned to Hogwarts from the Ministry, they'd given me the day off from Auror training anyway, I don't need to practise my Patronus casting, I've been doing them for 5 years now.

I floo-ed straight into the Headmistress's office, smiling as the portraits greeted me. Severus's arrived a month ago, just a few days after my last visit. His began to lecture me on my 'abysmal floo-ing' which is apparently 'completely unsuitable for someone of your status Mr Potter, but comes as no surprise when you consider you can rarely walk in a straight line like a Saviour should.'

I sat under the Hat, as Albus directed me to, it began talking again, telling me about my family history.

I already knew Dad was Godric's descendent, it turns out that he also had Hufflepuff blood.

Then we got to the interesting part. The part about the muggle-born witch called Lily

Evens. Who could have been Lily Jones or lily Mason or Lily Simpson.

My mother was adopted, she wasn't muggle-born. Her mother was a disowned witch, after conceiving Lily the father disappeared back to Cornwall, and the witch named her daughter before abandoning her outside a muggle orphanage in London. She was adopted a few months later.

If she'd been called Lee she would have been a Parselmouth. The hat explained that she wasn't place in Slytherin or Ravenclaw where her blood came from, because of the prophecy dictating my birth Rowena made. The prophecy about me that no one else knew.

"In a thousand years, the four shall unite once more. He shall be loyal and brave. Talented and cunning, yet cursed with a fate untold, stained by blood he shares with his foe."

Parseltongue is my stain. It made me the 'New Dark Lord' in my second year. It gave me access to his world, the visions I was subjected to haunt me still. Whispers have followed me since the Prophet printed my secret upon His death.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I don't own the any of the Marauders, they belong to JK Rowling. I also don't own the poem from which the italics are extracted. It was written by the Victorian Christina Rossetti.**

_I seek the sea of glass and fire_

_To wash the spot, to burn the snare;_

Have you ever burnt all the hairs from your forearms with a muggle lighter? Or shaved in the morning but forgetting to stop when you start shaving the skin off? I have, I don't really remember doing it. But I remember being told afterwards why I was bandaged up.

I don't know why I was sat in the bathroom at 3am whilst my roommates and friends slept. All that I know is I was being shaken awake later when the sun was up by James. There was blood on the floor, deep, dark crimson. It matched the house colours.

"Why were you bleeding James? Why is your blood on the floor?"

"It's not mine Sirius. It's yours. Can I check your knuckles for glass?" He slowly took my hand when I nodded and, summoning a pair of tweezers, began pulling shards out carefully. I watched in amazement as bits of bloodied mirror landed in a pile by his feet.

"I think I got most of them. But we'll go Pom-Poms after breakfast."

I nod slowly, already wondering when he'll ask about the glass that still surrounds me. Part of me is wondering when he'll ask why my arms are so smooth. But then I remember, he's asked me before. I remember I've already told James I burn the hair from my arms. It's really nice to do, but I messed up once, and now there's so much scar, my hair barely grows. He was the one who told me why I was bandaged up.

"Sirius." He's shaking me again, I must have zoned out. "Sirius, answer my question. Why did you attack the mirror?"

"I don't know James. Why did I attack the mirror?"

"Please Sirius. Please no joking, just a straight answer." Hazel eyes are staring into mine again.

"But I don't know James. I can't remember. I... I was just sat here... watching Padfoot... he wouldn't stop laughing at me. He...He wouldn't stop James. And I was scared... So so scared. He said he was going to hurt you and Remus and Peter and Lily and. And he wouldn't stop! I punched him to make him shut up... I wanted him to stop _lying_...then you were here, shaking me." He nods, but his eyes are clouded. He doesn't believe me. Or he does, but doesn't want to. I think I'm crying, my face feels wet.

"Get dressed; we'll meet you downstairs in the common room. Okay Sirius?" I stand and he leads me out of the room still cluttered with mirror shards. It's making the golden light into rainbows on the ceiling, I want to stay and watch but James keeps hold of my elbow. The doorway closes, hiding the house colours away.

"Don't go back in, I've grabbed the toothbrushes, we're all going to brush our teeth in one of the bathrooms on the way down to breakfast. Get dress for lessons. Don't be long."

**The Common Room.**

"How is he?" Remus's brow furrows ask he asked the usual question.

"Padfoot was in the mirror again last night. Sirius attacked him Remus."

"He's getting worse then. You're doing the best we can James."

"I know. I'm... I'm just scared Moony. Padfoot said he's going to hurt us, that's why Sirius attacks him. What happens when he does...? That's scaring me."

"We'll cope. Lily won't abandon you for putting Sirius first when he needs it."

"I know. But I'm still really scared."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I don't Luna, Harry or Ginny, they belong to JK Rowling. I also don't own the poem from which the italics are extracted. It was written by the Victorian Christina Rossetti.**

_Lo, stairs are meant to lift us higher:_

_Mount with me, mount the kindled stair._

"Come upstairs Luna, you need to sleep." Ginny requested as she saw her blonde haired friend curled up watching the flames of the Gryffindor fire.

"I'm not sleepy Gin. The Derierns won't leave me alone you see."  
"Come keep me company in bed at least, please Moonbeam."  
"Ginny… why am I allowed to stay in your tower? Everybody else has to sleep in their own dorms, why don't i?"  
"Maybe McGonagall thinks the Sorting Hat made a mistake with you. Or because you prefer this tower to your own. All your friends are here after all. I'm here."  
"It's because you look nicer surrounded by reds and gold then blue and bronze."  
"Hello Harry. Are your Derierns dancing as well?"  
"No, just bad memories. You look shattered Gin, why don't you go get some shut eye; me and Lun will keep each other company."

"Yeah, I will. I'll see you both in the morning, night Harry, Night Moonbeam."  
"Goodnight"

"I hope your sleep will be free from Derierns dancing." Luna smiled softly as the red hair climbed back up the dormitory staircase.

"What were your Derierns doing to wake you up tonight Harry?"  
"Nothing, it was my normal nightmares. Cedric, Sirius. The Dursleys. Seeing Remus's body lying next to Tonk's, I miss them. I hate the fact that it's my fault Teddy won't have parents. Bella screaming at me in the Ministry. Snape giving me those memories, did you know I'd never seen pictures of my family until I came here? No, it was my usual scream myself awake dreams."

"That's what Derierns do though Harry, they dance and spin and don't stop until you go mad blaming yourself for deaths and pain you could never have stopped. They only go away when we dance with them, and see it wasn't our fault. That we were too unimportant to change the outcomes."  
"What are your Derierns about then Luna?"  
"Oh, lots of things, though nothing as exciting as a Dark Lord."  
"Like what? What do you blame yourself for?"  
"I never liked Ravenclaws students. Or her colours. The spell that killed my mother was blue you see. When I laid in my new bed the first night, it felt just like the day she died. I was surrounded by…blueness. Not the soft sky blue or the bright summery blue you find in the Himalayan poppies. It was that dark dangerous blue that looks purple, almost black, in the silver moonlight."  
"Yeah?"

"I tore all the blue off. Owled father asking for material, but it still gets stolen. My house hates the colours in my bed. It's still Ravenclaw from the outside, but when I'm lying there trying to stop my Derierns dancing, I'm not surrounded by my mother's death."  
"You are always allowed to stay here though Luna."  
"My house does. They darken my world whenever I'm not there…. Harry, why is it that only your house is nice to me? It hurts now when they steal my things, it didn't before I had you and Ginny helping me find everything."

"Luna, just because Ravenclaw's students get the best grades doesn't make them the smartest. Look at Hermione; she's set to get the best NEWT score in history. Ron is brilliant at tactics, that's why he's Captain and not me this year. Neville, all you have to do is show him a leaf and he'll identify it, and tell you how to make the plant grow better. Ginny will easily out duel any Raven stupid enough to challenge her. Your house, your ancestors house, is too stupid to see the brilliance behind your eyes, all they can see is loony Luna Lovegood, they never stopped to listen to your words, so they never got to witness the truth you can't seem to stop seeing. The Hat makes mistakes, how can an 11 year old be sorted into a house based on what they may be capable of. But no one ever questions its judgement. I did and it put me here not in Slytherin. It's our choices that define us Luna, not our actions. You chose to befriend us. We chose to see the moonlight shining off you."

"I didn't know you could ask the hat to put you somewhere else. I was always told it would refuse to sort you if you did that."  
"Maybe that's why everyone ends up fitting the stereotype, because they have to grow into their house and so few are daring enough to grow into themselves."

"Maybe. Come on, we should go to bed, your Derierns all finished dancing for now?"

"Yes, thank you Harry." Luna smiled at her class mate before climbing the stairs up to the 7th years girls dorm, harry exisingushing the wall lamp before he made his own way to the 8th year boys dorm.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I don't own the any of the Marauders, they belong to JK Rowling. I also don't own the poem from which the italics are extracted. It was written by the Victorian Christina Rossetti.**

_Your eyes look earthward, mine look up._

Sirius wasn't playing Quidditch today. He'd been banned because he'd gotten into a fight again. He knew he should of minded, nearly the whole school was pissed with him cos it was the last match of the year, but he didn't care, he couldn't make himself care.

It meant he got to watch James flying. James was far above the field. He couldn't catch the snitch yet, Gryffindor needed to score another 7 goals to win the cup. They'd beat Slytherin if James caught the snitch right now, but they wanted the cup.

It was going to be a long game without Sirius scoring.

James was smiling down to the stands. Sirius couldn't help but smile back,even if he could only see James' smile through the binoculars. Even if James wasn't smiling at him, but at the annoying red-head sat the other side of Remus.

Sirius wondered if there was anything symbolic about him looking up at James.

James was the more respected maurder, he came from a light family after all, even f Sirius had been disowned. When he'd arrived at James in the middle of the night that summer, he couldn't help but feel the Potters let him stay out of pity. Poor disowned Sirius who doesn't have any other friends he can stay with. Poor disowned Sirius who's been beaten and crucio'd (not that he told them bout the punishments) by the monsters he calls family. Kind James Potter taking in that trouble maker. Lucky James Potter getting the only girl he's ever wanted and being loved back so deeply.

Poor Sirius Black, never had a relationship outlast the week.

Poor Sirius Black, who doesn't know how to hug without it leading to sex.

Poor Sirius Black, who never learnt how to love. Who loves, but loves wrong.

James was always above everyone else. So far above its easy to forget him until he swoops down and saves the day.

Sirius was always in the middle of stuff. He was the gossip column of Hogwarts. He never let himself out of the limelight, never missed a party, even that one time when it hurt to stand cos his father had come to see him. Sirius was scared of being forgotten, but scared of people noticing the looks he gave James.

Sirius was always looking for guidance from James.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I don't own Remus, Padfoot or Prongs, they belong to JK Rowling. I also don't own the poem from which the italics are extracted. It was written by the Victorian Christina Rossetti.**

_I see the far-off city grand,_

_Beyond the hills a watered land,_

_Beyond the gulf a gleaming strand_

_Of mansions where the righteous sup;_

Remus. J. Lupin had the room at the very top of his house. The one that got flooded with sunlight, even in winter. The room with the huge window that let him count and name all the thousands of stars that danced around the silver moon.

He couldn't remember what the full moon looked like. It had been years since he'd spent those nights in the attic bedroom. Nowadays he was always locked into the tightly warded basement.

Remus could see the outline of city when he stared from his window on foggy or rainy days. His city always appeared when everything else disappeared. He knew he was just seeing the edges of the trees, he knew it was nature, not industry that fascinated him as his mind wandered from his books.

Remus longed for his city to be real; it was the one city where he would be embraced in all his strangeness. It was a city full of bookstores and chocolatiers; everyday could be spent finding new stories, new worlds. Finding knowledge. Even fiction contained knowledge, a different sort admittintly, but knowledge is knowledge.

Remus was filled with knowledge. He'd memorised stories, the good ones he was able to read again and again, always learning more. Those were the books he kept and took to Hogwarts every year. He was top of his year in most subjects (not potions, Sluggy hated him) even with his monthly absences. Padfoot and Prongs were really helpful with that.

They were all learning to become Animagus for him, even Peter. Remus had absorbed the necessary knowledge, but it would never be put to practise. Werewolves weren't able to transform at will, so being Animagus was impossible. Despite this he was still the one teaching the other boys. They would be in his half-imagined, half-discovered city, as well as lily and Severus. They wouldn't fight, it wasn't allowed in his city. Not in a city of knowledge and friendship and stories.

He pulled a piece of parchment over to him, his quill and ink pot already resting on the floor. Smiling softly as he watched the rainclouds fade to revel the night sky, easily finding his favourite star, Sirius really was the brightest in the sky.

He began to write as the stars shone onto his scarred skin. He'd memorised stories, the good ones he was able to think about and see every time he fell asleep. But all of them would be recorded for the Maurders, and any Maurders kids.

Years later, Remus wrote stories for muggles about his city. The Maurders stories weren't to be shared though.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I don't own the any of the characters, they belong to JK Rowling. I also don't own the poem from which the italics are extracted. It was written by the Victorian Christina Rossetti.**

_Who sleep at ease amoung the trees,_

_Or wake to sing a cadenced hymn_

_With Cherubim and Seraphim._

Luna smiled to herself as she stood in the middle of Dumbledores 'return to Hogwarts' speech, humming softly she walked out of the Great Hall and opened the schools front doors, pushing the heavy wood with all her might until they opened wide, affording everyone within the Hall (for many of the students had crowded around the centre tables) a view of the front lawn. A few gasped at the unusual creatures that stood on the grass.

The Hall had fallen silent as the 5th year student made her passage into the rain, spinning quickly, her robes laid abandoned in the dry, her skirt lifting slightly as blonde hair flew out like a halo. She stopped suddenly, and bowed low to the creatures that only a few others could see.  
"Excuse me a moment my friend." she said before running back inside, pausing by her robes to retrieve her wand and transfigure her rain soaked clothes into a bruised bronze evening gown, and over to Harry.  
"Come dance Harry,It's so rare for Thestrals to dance; they only dance when the other animals awaken to sing with Angels. Please Harry, the Angels are singing for us to dance."  
"You can't Harry! Not with Loony!"  
"Why not Ron? What can it harm? It's just a dance in the rain."  
"Harry, you need to pick someone to dance, from a different house to keep the magic growing." Harry transfigured his robes into a muggle tuxedo as he surveyed the room.

"Malfoy, I dare you."  
"What!" the Slytherin prince spluttered.  
"unless you're scared to dance with Thestrals in the rain, worried your make up will run?" Draco glared as he stood, quickly transfiguring hos robes into finer material, the Hogwarts crest replaced by the Malfoy family's in silver.

"Don't forget to pick from a different house Draco." Luna shouted as she dragged Harry out into the rain, his hand grasped tight and a laugh on his lips as he bowed to the Thestrals, he easily began dancing alone in the rain with Luna, as he spun and moved, the sound of Angels singing filled his ears. As each person passed on the magic and stepped outside into the thunderstorm to dance in transfigured robes, the Angels sang louder, the numbers of voices growing harmoniously.

For the first time in memory, the students and teachers of Hogwarts danced together in the rain. As the clouds stopped their downpour, the music faded until it was just the humming of a lone Ravenclaw in a muddy bronze dress.

"Did you like the music Harry?"  
"Yeah, I did Luna, was it really Angels?"  
"No, of course not, there's no such thing as Angels Harry."  
"Then what were we dancing to?"  
"Rain. It makes a beautiful hymn if you listen closely and choose to dance."  
"You mean to say, you got the whole school to dance in the rain, to non-existent music, on the first night back."  
"No. I didn't make anyone dance, same as I didn't make the Thestrals appear, they always come and listen to the sorting. I just decided to dance. I'm not very good at dancing normally, but anyone can spin and twirl in the rain."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: I don't own the any of the terms you recognise, they belong to JK Rowling. I also don't own the poem from which the italics are extracted. It was written by the Victorian Christina Rossetti.**

_They bore the cross, they drained the cup,_

_Racked, roasted, crushed, wrenched limb from limb,_

_They the offscouring of the world:_

Death Eaters may believe they are fighting for a sort of freedom from the oppression forced upon them by the enemy, but they are slaves to a master who cares not for words of freedom and unity. They work for a master who sees them as disposable weapons willing to cleanse their impure brethren.

Death Eaters have respect though. They respect their fellow warrior. They respect their enemy's power and skills, and so they long to fight alongside it.

Then there are those who don't fight for one side. Those who so fear losing they defend both masters and are attacking the enemy every second they live, longing for a freedom they shall never be rewarded.

They are cowards, so scared they might pick the wrong side they commit unspeakable acts for both. To scared the wrong side might win they are compelled to help both.

Then there are those who don't fight, they depend on the heroes and saviours to fight a war they hold no responsibility for, so those who are responsible can lie safe at night. Those people expect a fast victory, free from innocents' bloodshed.

They offer only verbal support when it suits them, and their unconditional fear of your failure.

How can a handful of people, the Order members and our supporters, be expected to save the country? If everyone who disagreed with Voldermort's reign had been present at Hogwarts the day of the battle, the dead would still be alive. Even if many of them could do no more than cast stupefy and shields, Fred Weasley wouldn't be forced to see his dead twin every time he sees his reflection. Theodore Lupin wouldn't be forced to grow up never knowing the sound of his mother's voice or the beauty of his father's wolf.

Maybe if more people had stopped being afraid, Harry would have been able to face his fear and accept that he wasn't responsible. That he isn't a murderer. The only man to die at Harry's hand is himself.  
It's a wonder really that Gin is still married to him. But love is like Nargels, when buried that deep, it won't die. Harry will come back to us one day, when he's accepted his fear. Until then, we just have to wait and keep loving.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I don't own the Dumbledore, or anyone else you recognise, they belong to JK Rowling. I also don't own the poem from which the italics are extracted. It was written by the Victorian Christina Rossetti.**

_The heaven of starry heavens unfurled,_

_The sun before their face is dim_

There was something different about Dumbledore this year, all the students could see his hand, charred black beneath the endless sleeves of his robes. But as they sat under the enchanted ceiling, stars twinkling merrily, they all knew something **more** was wrong.

Maybe it was just remments of Umbitch's reign last year, many of the students still had faint scars from her detentions.

Or maybe because he had been forced to allow Snape's request to be DADA teacher.

Or maybe it was guilt, at not fighting harder to make You-Know-Whos return believed.

Only a handful of Gryffindors and a lone Ravenclaw (currently lost amongst the red ties) had fought Death Eaters last year. And watched as Harry's lone magical guardian fell through the Veil.

Very few people would believe you if you told them that the affliction affecting Albus Dumbledore had nothing to do with the past. It had nothing to do with Voldermorts return or the lost of Sirius's life or the numerous mistakes the old wizard had made.

No, Albus Dumbledores eyes had finally lost their twinkle, for as he gazed down at his students each night, he couldn't help but wonder if the stars would be out when Snape kills him.

As he gazed down at his students, he couldn't help but worry, for he, the great wizard expected to lead Britain and the Ministry through this war, as he did in the first rising and with his old friend Grinelwald, was planning his own death, and leaving them all behind to fight.

And who was his replacement leader? A boy of mere 16, a mediocre wizard, who would win this war on the basis of possessing a 'power unknown' which Albus had decided some 15 years ago meant his ability to love.

Because to be honest, loving and accepting was what the young Harry Potter excelled at most. Yes, he had quidditch skill, but what use was that on the battlefield. Yes, he was brilliant at DADA, but that requires love and hope to create strong magic.

But Dumbledores famous twinkle had finally died, knowing that the body would follow soon, leaving innocents to fight a war he created.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: I don't own the any of the Malfoys or anyone else, they belong to JK Rowling. I also don't own the poem from which the italics are extracted. It was written by the Victorian Christina Rossetti.**

_You looking earthwards, what see you?  
Milk-white, wine-flushed amoung the vines  
Up and down leaping, to and fro,_

Lucius Malfoy rested his arms on the twisted metal of his Town house balcony, a slim cigarette held between pale fingers.  
"I do wish you wouldn't do that."  
"He's dead."  
"You've said that constantly since you woke screaming. Has the great Malfoy finally been reduced to repeating himself? Wait until the papers hear."  
"Are you really such a little girl that you fail to grasp what this means. Our Lord is dead. He died at the hands of a blood-traitor baby."  
"He's your Lord Lucius, I was never marked."  
"For appearances sake only."

"I refused to be marked for Draco's sake!"

"But you supported Him!"  
"I supported his view, not his practice. I never supported his methods. Do you know how he punished Bella? My own sister. Or did he not trust you with that knowledge?"  
"What punishment, Bellatrix never disgraced herself."  
"She's infertile, from the potion accident in her 6th year."  
"His chosen witch?"  
"She can't carry His heir. He placed her under a awake coma spell, then let his dark creatures have their way with her, she couldn't do anything but watch as those things raped her. Because some idiot mudblood made her infertile!"

"That's hardly a punishment for her."  
"Rape is always a punishment Lucius! Even for muggles it is a punishment."  
The two blonds stood silently, watching the celebrations in the street below.

"When the Aurors come for me, you aren't to panic. The Malfoy family is too powerful for them to harm me."  
"Do you think they realise how meaningless they look from here as they dance drunk like common ruffians?"  
"Cissy, you need to listen to me."  
"No I don't Lucius. You are my husband, not my keeper, and you only gained that by luck. I would much rather sit out here with my son to watch the celebrations and enjoying this autumn sun then listen to you for one more second."

Lucius stormed away as Narcissa turned and picked her two year old son up.  
"Where Father gone? Why he mad?"  
"He's gone out, and he's mad because he very nearly lost two things he holds very dear, But lets watch the dancing instead Draco, everyone is dancing in the street today."  
"Can we dance too Mother? Please."  
"We have to stay inside, but yes, we may dance."  
"Mixy is still teaching me."  
"Not ball-room today Draco, we'll dance like those people today."  
"Like mudbloods?" Draco frowned like Lucius was teaching him.  
"No, like witches and wizards and free happy people my darling."


End file.
